Day 1, line 2, found 3 cassettes of youExplaining what to doIf they were foundYour distant voice recalls the best of youThe years obsessed with youIn sequenced sound

Dropping a fullscreen on a six-string let me memorise itStand in a doorway of a gatefold and I criticise itFrequency pulsewave in a sawtooth rhythm can’t disguise itFidgety digit position the tone

You and I aloneTalking on the phoneSomething in your voiceLeaves me with no choice

I placed them in a box below a streamRevealed it in a dreamDid it get through?

Trigger a tritone on a twelve-track when you synthesise itChannel a force nine through a stage door just to civilise itFlipping a cartwheel in a show home as they analyse itHiding a mystery under a stone

You and I aloneTalking on the phoneSomething in your toneMemories unknown